Hallowe'en 2014
by JantoJones
Summary: A handful of Drabbles and vignettes posted to the LJ Section VII '7 days of Hallowe'en' event.
1. Surprise

"Hey chum, are you coming to the commissary for the party?"

Illya turned from the filing cabinet to his partner and shook his head.

"No thank you," he replied. "I have a headache starting and I could really do without the noise of a Hallowe'en party."

"You sure?" Napoleon probed. "I happen to know that at least fourteen people have brought pumpkin pie."

"Save me some, I'll have it tomorrow."

Solo was surprised. He'd known Illya ignore many an illness if there was food to be had.

"Okay Tovarisch. Guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Goodnight Napoleon."

As soon as his partner was out of sight, Illya finished tidying his files away, put his jacket on and headed for home.

. . . . .

Napoleon only stayed at the party for a couple of hours. Before leaving, he wrapped up slices of three different pies and made his way to Illya's apartment.

Upon arrival at the building, he was immediately accosted by three small vampires and a mummy.

"Sorry kids," he told them. "I didn't to pick up any candy."

"Aaaawwwwww."

"Hold on."

He fished around in his pocket and extracted four quarters. He handed one to each of the four monsters.

"Will that do?"

"Thanks Mister," exclaimed the tallest of the vampires.

By the time Napoleon reached Illya's third floor apartment, he had completely run out of small change. Every hallway seemed to be occupied by various ghosts, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, witches and mummies. He was in no doubt that Illya probably hated having the building's children running and squealing past his door, especially with his headache. Solo rapped his coded knock on his partner's door and waited. He was ill-prepared for what greeted him on the other side.

"Illya?"

"Who else would it be?"

Napoleon stood back to fully take in the sight before him. Illya was dressed in a tuxedo and opera cape. On his head he wore a black wig, complete with widow's peak and his canine teeth were capped with pointed fangs. His face was caked in make-up which gave him the look of the recently deceased and in the Russian's hands was a rather large bowl of candy.

"I thought you had a headache."

"I lied," Illya stated. "I wanted to get home for the children here. I enjoy being surrounded by children having fun. It reminds me of my young childhood. Not that we had Hallowe'en of course."

"You could have just told me this is what you wanted to get home for Tovarisch."

"What, and risk someone overhearing and ruining my reputation as a cold-hearted communist at headquarters?"

Napoleon had to laugh. "Hey, since I knocked on your door, do I get candy? I'll give you pumpkin pie in return."

The End


	2. Party

Mr Waverly rarely attended the parties which were held in the commissary, although he was happy to pay for them. Every member of U.N.C.L.E. worked hard and Waverly had no problem in thanking them this way. The one he always went to was the Hallowe'en party. The Old Man never wore a costume, but enjoyed to see the creativity of others. Hallowe'en always seemed to bring out the child in each of his people, and they threw themselves, headlong, into enjoying every minute.

Waverly was always surprised by Mr Kuryakin's presence at the parties. The man's demeanour always lead people to believe he didn't know what fun was, yet every year he arrived at the party in costume. Of course, where you found Kuryakin, you found Solo.

This year, the agents hadn't had time to find costumes as they'd returned to the country only an hour earlier. One man was dressed entirely in black, topped with unruly blond hair. The other was in a perfectly tailored suit with immaculate hair.

"I should put you on report for not having your correct badge numbers, gentlemen."

"Sorry Sir," Napoleon replied, smiling. "But the costumes wouldn't work if we didn't swap badges too."


	3. All Trick, No Treat

After several years of fighting against the dangerous and dastardly plans of THRUSH, Napoleon Solo thought he'd seen it all. As it turned out, the criminal organisation had managed to sink into even further depths of depravity. Their latest deed, had it not been stopped by U.N.C.L.E., would have led to devastation. An explanation of what the scheme was meant to achieve may have helped Napoleon get his head around it; not that it would be any less horrifying or despicable. Instead, the CEA was left with no understanding as to what THRUSH would have gained.

"You are still trying to comprehend events, my friend?"

Napoleon looked over to his partner and nodded.

"Had that poisoned candy found its way into the hands of Trick-or-Treaters. . . . ."

"But it didn't," Illya reminded him. "We prevented it, and the children can happily enjoy their Hallowe'en, never knowing that there are real monsters out there frightening everyone."

Suddenly standing, and grabbing his jacket, Napoleon motioned for Illya to follow.

"Come on, Tovarisch. I've had enough of tricks, it's time we got ourselves some treats. Vodka for you, I presume?"

"Of course," replied Illya. "The best treat a Russian can get."


	4. Guardians

The lights in medical had been dimmed to night-time levels, lulling Napoleon into a light doze in his chair. He hadn't had any proper sleep since before he'd brought his partner in, with a gunshot wound in his chest, thirty-six hours previously. The doctors had given him a good prognosis, but Solo wouldn't leave until Illya woke.

Sensing movement in the room, Napoleon opened his eyes and was startled by the sight of a woman leaning over the unconscious form in the bed. Somehow, he knew she wasn't a threat. He watched in silence as she gently stroked Illya's hair and sang him a Russian lullaby. The woman then kissed his forehead and leaned near his ear.

"Prosypaysya Illyusha. _(Wake up Illyusha)_,"she whispered.

Illya's eyes opened and he squinted at the figure above him.

"Mama?"

She softly stroked the cheek of her son before turning to Napoleon.

"Spaciba," she thanked him, as she faded away.

. . . . . . . . . .

When he was recovered, Illya made no mention of his dead mother's visit. Napoleon figured that, even if his partner remembered, he'd probably just put it down to delirium. Solo however, would never forget it.


	5. Impossible Choices

Napoleon Solo was a master strategist. His ability to think on his feet and quickly assess a situation was legendary, and had saved his hide on many occasions. Every so often though, his skills failed him. There were times, when even the famed Solo luck, wasn't enough to rescue him from a situation. His current predicament was one such situation. As his partner watched from the side-lines, Napoleon considered the seven options he'd been presented with. None of the choices would be good for him. He took his time, trying to push back the inevitability of having to make a decision. Whichever one he chose, it was going to leave him with six unhappy secretaries.

Solo had no idea why the secretarial pool had decided to hold a pumpkin carving contest, but he did know it was Illya who had suggested to them that they ask Napoleon to judge. Suddenly, the tannoy crackled to life, and the voice of Lisa Rogers summoned the two agents to Waverly's office. Solo breathed a sigh of relief at his, albeit temporary, reprieve.

Still, revenge would be his. Illya didn't know it yet, but Napoleon had volunteered him to judge the pumpkin pie contest.


	6. Life

Looking down at his own lifeless body, Illya pondered the question he'd just been asked by the shadowy figure beside him. He could see Napoleon kneeling, and openly weeping at his loss.

"Why?" he asked the figure. "I don't even believe in an afterlife, let alone one which offers return fares."

"Sometimes mistakes are made, and a soul is brought across before their due time. They are nearly always sent back." the figure explained, with a booming voice which sounded like it belonged in a horror movie. "We make you this offer because your life has been one of pain, both physical and emotional. You may not wish to go back."

"Of course I wish to go back," Illya asserted, forcibly. "Yes, I have pain in my life, but I also have happiness, friendship and joy!"

"Very well."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Napoleon?"

Solo's tear-filled brown eyes looked into the clear blue ones of his partner; his very definitely dead partner, who had just fallen several feet from a balcony.

"Don't worry, Illya. I'll get help.

Illya wasn't worried. He didn't know how he knew, but he was certain it wasn't yet his time.


	7. Monster

Illya Kuryakin, since first discovering it, had always enjoyed Hallowe'en. He could happily get behind any holiday which involved copious amounts of candy. What really made him smile was seeing the costumes on children and adults alike. At least, it was until one of his neighbours, along with his young son, showed him his idea of a monster.

"Why so glum, chum?" Napoleon asked, as he joined his partner in the commissary.

"Do you remember Mr Casey, who lives two floors up from me?"

"The one that hates you, and everything he thinks you stand for?"

"That's him," Illya confirmed. "I understand the animosity between our countries, but to most people in my building, it isn't an issue."

He went silent, but Napoleon said nothing; just waited for Illya to continue when he was ready.

"Casey brought his young son to my door last night, trick or treating."

"Oh, so his prejudice doesn't stop him from taking free candy from you?"

Illya snorted. "He doesn't usually bother with my apartment, but he and his son were wearing something he wanted me to see."

Napoleon didn't like where this seemed to be going.

"I opened the door," Illya continued. "Casey stood there, with a grin I could happily have punched through the back of his head, and said 'What do you think of our monster costumes, Commie?'"

Illya looked Napoleon directly in the eye. "They were dressed as Russian soldiers."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing. The child is only four, and doesn't know about hate and bigotry yet, so I gave him his candy. Besides, if I hadn't, it would have given his father another excuse not to like me."

"I don't know what to tell you, Tovarisch."

"In the grand scheme of things," Illya began, as he drained his coffee and stood up to leave. "It really doesn't matter."

Napoleon watched him go and felt a ball of anger form in his chest. Illya Kuryakin voluntarily put his life on the line every day to keep bigots like Casey safe. It was clear to Solo who the real monster was.


	8. The Morning After

Upon reaching the apartment, Napoleon rapped out their coded knock, but got no response. He tried twice more before taking out the key he'd sworn to only use in emergencies. Once inside, Solo was confronted with a trail of, brightly coloured vomit leading to Illya's bathroom. Attempting, and just about succeeding, to keep his breakfast down, he followed the trail. What he found was a sorry sight to behold.

Illya had fallen asleep against the toilet bowl having emptied his, rainbow hued, stomach contents into it. Trying hard not to breathe, Napoleon roused his partner. The Russian woke and was obviously confused about the whole situation.

"Take a shower," Napoleon told him. "Then we'll see about cleaning the mess."

Fifteen minutes later, Illya emerged from the bathroom, much cleaner and dressed. He found Napoleon, on his knees, scrubbing the floor, but knew better than to make a smart comment about it. In the back of his mind, he got the feeling a dry cleaning bill would be coming his way.

"Want to tell me what happened?" Solo asked him, a little too tersely.

"I made a small mistake," Illya replied, repentantly. "It would seem that vodka and large amounts of hallowe'en candy, do not get on together."


End file.
